


Collected Cucumbers

by fictionalcandie



Category: Glee
Genre: Cucumbers vs Oranges, Epiphanies, Getting Together, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 01:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5437850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalcandie/pseuds/fictionalcandie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with the cucumbers—or at least, Puck said it did, and he was the one telling this story, so that was what counted.</p><p>(A romance in a series of drabbles, which actually has very little to do with vegetables.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collected Cucumbers

**Author's Note:**

> Imported [from LJ](http://gailsauce.livejournal.com/tag/verse%3A%20cucumbers), can also be read there or [on DW](http://gailsauce.dreamwidth.org/tag/verse:+cucumbers). Originally posted between 21 August 2010–3 October 2010. Proofed for typos but otherwise unedited.

### Cucumber Envy

People aren’t supposed to have epiphanies in the produce aisle. Puck might not know a lot, but he _did_ know that. And if they shouldn’t be having epiphanies there, they _definitely_ shouldn’t be having a sexual identity crisis, standing between the fruit and their six year old sister.

Puck totally was, though, and he totally wasn’t even being stealthy about it. Even his sister had noticed something weird was going on, because when his mom told him to get some fruit, he reached out without looking and picked up a couple of oranges.

“Noah,” his sister said, sounding confused. “You don’t _like_ oranges.”

“Whatever,” he replied automatically, staring fixedly at the thing that was causing all of this in the first place.

Just a few yards away, Kurt Hummel was standing in front of the vegetables with an intent look on his face, _groping cucumbers_.

Seriously, that was full-on molestation going on over there. Puck was pretty sure it wasn’t appropriate for family establishments like ALDI. Especially not with that expression on Hummel’s stupidly elfin little face.

Not that Puck was really paying attention to Hummel’s face. He was pretty distracted by those ridiculous, small hands and the way they kept _squeezing_ and _stroking_ and how _capable_ they looked. Puck didn’t think he’d ever particularly noticed Hummel’s hands before, but _damn_ , he was noticing them in a big way _now_.

Kurt obviously wasn’t getting enough, if he was giving vegetables that kind of action in the _grocery store_ — and Puck wasn’t getting enough, either, because he was the one unable to turn away, and consequently oh-point-three seconds from popping a boner when he was with his mother and kid sister _in public_. Shit.

* * *

### Cucumbers Aren’t Gay

Puck’s brain was obviously broken. He kept _thinking_ about Kurt. And his hands. And his hands… doing things.

See? Broken.

Puck had to talk about this, with _someone_. He pulled out his phone and dialed before he could decide it was a bad idea.

“Wanting another guy to jerk you off doesn’t make you gay, right?” he asked, as soon as the call was answered.

“… are you drunk again?” Quinn said after a moment, sounding baffled. He didn’t feel bad for confusing her, though; if his babymama was going to give away his baby, the least she could do was listen to him once in a while.

“No.” He’d considered it, though. “Seriously, it totally doesn’t have to be _gay_ , right? An orgasm’s an orgasm.”

Quinn made a non-committal noise. “You’re not talking about Finn, are you?”

Puck choked on his own breath. “Of course not!”

“Who is it, then? One of the other football gleeks?” she pressed.

“What the hell does it matter?”

“If you’re going to give me these kinds of visuals, my pregnancy hormones demand _details_.”

“Shit, fine, it’s Hummel, okay?” he ground out.

The noise she made in response kind of hurt his eardrums. He jerked the phone away from his head, scowling. “What the hell, Quinn?”

“Oh, my God,” she was repeating at a more normal pitch, when he put the phone back to his ear.

“Did you just go into labor?” he questioned warily.

“No!” she shrieked, followed by another voice demanding to know what her babydaddy was saying.

Puck froze. “Quinn, where are you?”

“We’re in Mercedes’s room.”

“ _Shit_.”

Puck hung up before he could ask whether ‘we’ included Mercedes’s best friend.

* * *

### Cucumbers Are Kosher

Puck was the second person to arrive at the next Glee rehearsal. The first person had been Kurt, and there was no-one to stop Puck, so he walked over and sprawled across the seat next to the other boy.

“So, Hummel,” he began casually, “you _really_ like cucumbers, huh?”

Kurt started sharply, and looked over at him blankly. “Actually,” he said after a moment, “I prefer jumbo zucchini.”

Puck didn’t _think_ the double entendre had been intentional… but then, he wouldn’t have thought Kurt went around molesting vegetables in front of kids, either. “Have you had these… feelings long?”

“… did you take Finn’s vitamin D again?” Kurt asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes and edging slightly away.

Puck rolled his eyes. “Dude, I am not the one with a vegetable fetish, here.”

“Okay, that is probably the most random thing I’ve ever heard you say,” said Kurt slowly. He stopped easing away, but Puck thought that was mostly surprise. “And I have heard you say some really random things.”

“Dude, I saw you in ALDI the other day,” retorted Puck, with one of his personal I-know-things-about-your-sex-life eyebrow waggles.

Kurt stared at him some more. “Have you ever eaten a soggy cucumber, Puck?”

Puck took a moment to try and figure out whether he was supposed to reply to the innuendo or the actual question. “I’ve never eaten _cucumbers_ at all, Hummel,” he finally pointed out.

“Really? Never?” Kurt looked honestly surprised. “Are they not Kosher?”

Okay, so the actual question, then. “What? You mean, like, pickles? Sure they are.”

After another moment of looking at Puck like he’d just said he enjoyed wearing Louboutins on weekends, Kurt brought a hand up to cover his eyes. “Do you have to practice to be this confusing, or is it a natural talent?”

“What?” asked Puck, confused now himself, but before Kurt could answer, Quinn and Mercedes entered the room, making a beeline for Kurt.

Shit.

Puck lunged to his feet and fled to a chair on the other side of the room. By the looks on the girls’ faces, sitting next to Kurt right now wasn’t safe.

He hadn’t even gotten anything useful out of the other boy.

Double shit.

* * *

### Cucumbers Only Drive Stick

Quinn was waiting for him after Glee, in the parking lot. More specifically, in his truck.

Actually _in_ his _truck_.

Puck stopped next to the driver’s door and stared at her. “I locked that,” he pointed out, leaning through the open window to drop his backpack on the floor of the cab.

“You left the windows open,” Quinn countered. “I’m pretty sure that defeats the purpose of locking it, Puck.”

Puck shrugged. “It’s the Puckmobile. Everyone knows better than to do shit to it.”

Quinn’s eyebrows rose. “Plus, it’s also a piece of shit.”

Puck glared. “Did you want something?”

“Drive me home,” Quinn ordered, resting her hands over his baby and settling back in the seat. She actually looked _comfortable_ , which was ridiculous, because she _never_ looked comfortable anymore, and also, his passenger seat was possibly the most uncomfortable place ever for non-Finn-sized people.

“… You mean to Aretha’s house?” asked Puck, glancing over his shoulder to where Mercedes was climbing into the shotgun seat of someone’s black Navigator. Oh. _Kurt’s_ Navigator. _Oh_.

“Yes,” answered Quinn calmly. “Home.”

“Why should I?” he growled suspiciously.

“We need to talk about your mancrush on Kurt.”

Puck went from glaring to scowling. “Why?”

Quinn smiled at him. She looked really innocent, which was bizarre since she was having his baby, and also a _lie_ , because the next thing she said proved that she was really, really evil. “I need a reason not to tell him. A _good_ one. Or I’m totally spilling the beans while we watch _Project Runway_ tonight.”

God. Seriously, _evil_.

“Fine.” Puck straightened and yanked open his door. “ _Fuck_.”

“If you’re not nice, I’ll tell him all about your mancrush, no matter what you say,” she threatened brightly.

“I do not have a mancrush,” spat Puck. He slammed his door closed and added, “Put on your seatbelt.”

He waited until Quinn had done so, before starting the car. Then he waited until they were away from the school parking lot before he muttered defensively, “I just kinda want him to jerk me off. And stuff.”

“And stuff.”

Puck scowled even harder. “Yeah. Stuff.” Stuff he didn’t know how to blame on cucumbers. Damn Kurt’s girly face.

“Like _what_ stuff?” she pressed.

“Like, making out, stuff.”

“Uh-huh.” Quinn sounded smug. Puck refused to look at her. “Like I said. Mancrush.”

“Just… don’t tell him,” requested Puck, hands tightening on the steering wheel as he very carefully stopped at a red light.

“Hm. We’ll see.”

* * *

### An Honest Cucumber

“What the heck, Puckerman?”

Puck stopped short, blinking in surprise at the boy standing in front of Puck’s locker, arms crossed, scowling at him.

“Uh. Hummel?” Puck scratched the back of his neck. “Can I… help you?”

“What you can do is tell me why you’re trying to con my girls into thinking you’ve got some sort of… perverted _thing_ for me!” hissed the smaller boy furiously.

Puck’s eyes narrowed. “Quinn told you?”

“Mercedes did,” Kurt snapped. He uncrossed his arms and planted his hands on his hips; any minute Puck expected to see his foot start tapping.

Mercedes. Of _course_ , Mercedes.

“I _hate_ chicks,” Puck grumbled angrily, gently shouldering Kurt out of the way so he could get at his locker. Kurt looked seriously flabbergasted, so Puck helpfully explained, “They’re freaking _sneaky_ , dude.”

Kurt blinked his big stupid pretty eyes a couple of times. “Says the boy who’s playing an elaborate prank on the mother of his child. And on me.”

“I’m not playing any pranks on anybody,” Puck muttered. He swung his locker open so the door was between his face and Kurt’s before adding, “I _do_ have a perverted thing for you.”

“ _What_?”

“Well, I’m not sure perverted is actually the right word,” replied Puck, defensive. He pulled the locker door partially closed so that he could peek at Kurt’s face — yeah, totally stunned. He’d pretty much been expecting that. He cleared his throat. “It was the word you chose, though, so. I went with it.”

“But.” Kurt boggled a little, his mouth opening and closing several times.

Puck realized that his gaze got sort of… stuck there. Kurt had really nice lips. Puck’s tongue darted out and wet his own as he considered them. They looked really soft, not chapped at all, plump and really… pink. Not like boys’ lips usually looked. Puck could think of some places those lips would look _awesome_. They probably tasted really good, too.

Kurt’s voice jolted him back to awareness a few moments later, going high-pitched and incredulous. “— how can you have a _thing_ for me? At all? _Any_ kind of thing?”

“Real easy?” Puck offered lamely.

“But— What does that even _mean_?” demanded Kurt, looking a bit hysterical.

Puck shrugged, trying to stop looking at Kurt’s mouth, and failing spectacularly. “Well, I want you to put your hand on my dick. _All the time_ , dude,” he said. “And I kinda want to drag you into that supply closet over there and have you blow me, like, _right now_.”

Kurt stared at him, his mouth hanging open.

“Oh, my _God_.”

Puck wasn’t really surprised when Kurt spun around a second later and ran away.

* * *

### Cucumbers Are Better Than Oranges

Kurt avoided Puck for the, like, next _week_ after his confession. It wasn’t even subtle avoiding. It was the kind of avoiding where when Kurt saw Puck in the hallway at school, he’d actually knock little freshmen girls over in order to get away. The kind of avoiding where Kurt would physically _drag_ Brittany and Tina into the seats on either side of him during Glee, if Quinn and Mercedes didn’t take them.

It annoyed Puck.

A _lot_.

Way more than he thought it should have.

That was probably why he slammed the front door in Mercedes’s face when she showed up at his house Wednesday afternoon.

The doorbell rang again. “Open the door, Puckerman!”

“What do you want, Aretha?” Puck yelled back, resting his forehead on the door and determinedly ignoring his little sister watching him from the living room.

“I want you to open your damn door!”

Puck considered.

She was Kurt’s best friend.

Puck opened the door. “How do you even know where I live?” he demanded.

“I told her,” someone announced. He looked over to see Quinn leaning against the wall of his house, next to the door. “Hi, Puck.”

Puck groaned. “I hate women.”

Leaving the door open, he turned around and walked deeper into the hall.

“Noah,” whispered his sister, scurrying over and tugging on the hem of his shirt as Quinn and Mercedes followed him in and closed the door. “Ma said you’re not allowed to have girls over anymore.”

“Don’t worry, squirt,” Puck replied, patting her head. “They’re oranges.”

“‘Oranges’?” repeated Quinn skeptically, while Mercedes arched her brows.

His sister looked at them and, after a second, smiled toothlessly. “Hi, Quinn. Noah doesn’t like oranges.”

“Uh-huh,” muttered Mercedes sarcastically, frowning over at Quinn.

“Really?” asked Quinn, looking slightly confused.

“He likes cucumbers better,” his sister informed them helpfully.

Puck groaned. “Hey, pest, shut up and go watch TV.”

He didn’t bother waiting for her to run off before leading Mercedes and Quinn up to his room.

“All right,” he said, once he got them in his room and closed the door. He leaned against the window while they sat on the edge of the bed. He crossed his arms. “What do you guys really want, then?”

“Kurt thinks you want to turn him into a sex slave,” Quinn informed him.

Puck frowned. “What?”

“He says you told him you wanted to make him your bitch,” Mercedes clarified.

“… _what_?”

The girls raised their eyebrows and gave him pointed looks. “You mean you _don’t_ want to make him your bitch?”

“Of course I don’t want to make him my bitch!” Puck exclaimed. He glared at them. “I want to fucking _date_ him!”

Looking smug, the girls shared a smirk.

Oh. Shit.

* * *

### A Cucumber Convert

Puck took a deep breath. He could do this.

 _Think of the cucumbers_ , he told himself sternly. _Just think of Kurt’s hands on the cucumbers_.

Yeah, that was a much better thought than Kurt making that Ms Pillsbury-in-the-headlights face at him again, or even _worse_ , horrified disgust. Better than thinking about Kurt running away. Or Kurt slapping him, _then_ running a—

 _Cucumbers_ , he insisted, as he drew even with Kurt’s locker, where Mercedes was distracting the smaller boy. _Kurt, his hands on cucumbers, or on_ me _— with that pretty mouth saying—_

“Puck!” said Kurt, sounding alarmed.

That wasn’t _exactly_ what he’d been picturing Kurt saying, but it’d do for now.

“Don’t run away again,” Puck blurted. “Uh. Please?”

Kurt sent a slightly panicked look to Mercedes, who just smiled and patted his arm. “Listen to the ass,” she said gently, and started to leave.

“You mean _badass_ ,” Puck couldn’t prevent himself from correcting. Okay, so he didn’t try very hard, but at least his words had some of the tightness in Kurt’s face easing.

“Oh, no, that is one _good_ ass,” he thought he heard drift back over Mercedes’s shoulder.

Kurt bit his lip, something that Puck — as of two weeks ago (shut up, it wasn’t stalking until you followed someone home) — knew meant he was stifling a giggle.

“My guns are better,” he said, quickly, to see if he could keep that expression on Kurt’s face. Totally not because it meant he didn’t have to get to what he was _really_ here to talk about with Kurt. Totally, totally not.

Kurt’s teeth let go of his lip, which was disappointing, but his mouth twitched like maybe he’d considered grinning, which was encouraging.

“So.” Kurt raised one of his stupid girly eyebrows. “You had something to say?”

“I don’t want to make you my bitch.”

Kurt stared. He blinked. Then he flushed rosy pink all over and looked away for a second.

“Not that I wouldn’t be willing to,” Puck added, in case Kurt decided to think his statement meant that he wasn’t interested at all. “Because that would be fun. I mean, it’d be _fine_. But, uh, only if you wanted me to. I don’t do rape, that shit’s gross.”

“Good to know,” Kurt said, and his voice sounded a lot weaker than it normally did. He hadn’t stopped looking at Puck entirely, though; that was something.

Puck cleared his throat. _Cucumbers_ , he reminded himself. _Badass_. “Thing is— My _point_ is, I don’t just want to make you my bitch.”

Kurt licked his lips. Puck, because he was just that much of a stud, managed not to be distracted by it for more than a millisecond or two. “What… else do you want, then?”

What _did_ Puck want? That was the kicker.

The girls, when he’d told _them_ what he wanted from Kurt, had said to be as honest about this as he’d been about all the really fantastic sex he wanted to be having with Kurt as soon and as often as possible.

So. Honest.

He could do that.

He _could_.

“I want to take you to that twenty-four-hour diner out by the interstate, because their pancakes are _really_ good and at three in the morning there’s hardly anyone there so I could buy you some and play a bunch of classic rock at you from their awesome juke box while you ate,” he started, keeping his voice slow because he didn’t want to mess this up or miss anything. “I want to go to the movies with you, even those lame chick movies would be okay, because I could sit next to you and watch you instead of the screen, and you’re really fucking easy to watch and you smell _awesome_. And I want to walk you to all your classes. And eat lunch with you, even on weekends. And— and stuff.”

Kurt’s mouth was hanging slightly open, and he was still staring, but most of the blush had faded off his face.

Puck cleared his throat. He gave Kurt the best hopeful-but-not- _specifically_ -for-sex smile he could.

“Noah,” Kurt said — Puck’s heart _did not_ give an embarrassingly lameass leap in his chest, because that would have been girly — and he moved so that their hands brushed, where their arms were resting against the wall of lockers.

“Uh. Yeah?”

Kurt smiled. At him. A really wide Kurt-is-actually-happy-right-now-and-not-just-faking smile. “You _could_ have just said you wanted to be my boyfriend.”

Puck stared at the flush on Kurt’s cheeks and the gleam in his eyes. He licked his lips and reached for Kurt’s hand — that stupid capable hand that had started everything — and linked their fingers. He pulled Kurt forward until he could fit his own mouth over that shiny pink smile.

His lips pushing back shyly, Kurt giggled into the kiss.

 _Man_. Puck was maybe gonna have to build a monument to cucumbers.


End file.
